


Collateral Damage

by Suryaofvulcan



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-26
Updated: 2006-11-26
Packaged: 2018-08-16 07:04:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8092363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suryaofvulcan/pseuds/Suryaofvulcan
Summary: Trip and T'Pol aren't the only ones who lost someone during 4.21 "Terra Prime." Missing scenes, 4.20 "Demons" and 4.21 "Terra Prime."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Betas: SueC and Bianca. Thank you. Of course, I fiddled with it afterwards, so any mistakes are mine.  


* * *

Reeds donâ€™t cry.

Thatâ€™s been drummed into me since I was a child. Whenever I fell over and skinned my knees in the playground, I bit my lip and bore the pain, because Reeds donâ€™t cry. At school, when an older, bigger boy stood on my hand during a rugby match, breaking three of my fingers, I played on, and we won, because Reeds donâ€™t cry. When first Caitlin, then David, then Deborah, Rochelle, Michael, and finally Ruby broke my heart, I pasted a smile on my face, buried myself in my work and pretended I didnâ€™t care, because Reeds donâ€™t cry. But right now I was damn close to it as I sat on my bunk, my arms wrapped tightly around my body and my knees drawn up in front of me, assaulted by emotions I should never have allowed myself to feel.

It was over, and much sooner than even I expected: the end of our too-brief liaison precipitated by a sequence of events none of us could have predicted. Trip hadnâ€™t said as much, hadnâ€™t explicitly ended our affair, but I knew the hybrid child Paxton had created from their DNA had brought Trip and Tâ€™Pol together in a way they had never been before, and no doubt rekindled his feelings for her.

But in truth, looking back, I realised he began to pull away from me even before we learned about the child. It began soon after the incident with the Orion women; after the first time we made love. I should have known it was too soon for him to be truly ready, even though he seemed to enjoy the ways we pleasured each other. His withdrawal was almost imperceptible at first. We still spent time together, gossiping and laughing and watching movies, yet somehow he seemed subdued, worried. Brooding. I didnâ€™t dare ask him what was worrying him for fear that the answer would be exactly the one I feared: that he was having second thoughts about us. 

We still slept spooned together in my bed most nights, but he was clingy, clutching me tightly against him, and I suspected he often lay awake long after I was asleep. Just once, when he must have thought I was sleeping peacefully, I heard his despairing murmur as he kissed my hair: â€œOh, Mal, what am I gonna do?â€

Even so, we still made love, still pleasured each other with our hands and mouths, but there was an increasingly desperate quality to it, as if he was trying to commit every part of me to memory.

It felt like the end of a relationship, rather than the beginning.

There were times when I considered a pre-emptive strike, hoping it would somehow be easier if I were the one to end it. But then I would remember the silent promise I made to him on our first night together - that I would stand by him through his doubts and fears. For my own sake, I hoped and prayed to any god who would listen that this was a temporary setback, and I tried to give him the time and space he needed. I tried desperately to convince myself this wasnâ€™t the end, because I had no idea how I would cope if it was.

And then came the devastating news that somewhere, somehow, Trip and Tâ€™Pol had a child.

I knew Trip had always wanted children. When Doctor Phlox broke the news to them in front of the captain and me in sickbay - an unusually insensitive act on the doctorâ€™s part, I thought - Trip turned to look at me, and I remembered his words to me all those years ago, in Shuttlepod One. Even as we realised our already meagre air supply had been further compromised, he stated, with his usual infuriating optimism: â€œIâ€™m confident thereâ€™ll be a Charles Tucker the Fourth one day.â€

Iâ€™ve always been less certain of my desire to become a parent. I always suspected there was too much of my own father in me for me ever to be a good one. Only recently had my relationship with Trip, and his open and affectionate nature, begun to change my mind.

I gladly offered Trip my support as he struggled with the implications of this discovery; even as he entertained the fanciful notion that Tâ€™Pol had become pregnant and somehow borne their child without his knowledge.

When I proposed my plan to infiltrate the Orpheus mining colony, I intended that Travis and I should carry out the mission - Travis had personal knowledge of our contact, and each of us had maintained a low enough profile on Earth after the Xindi mission that we were unlikely to be recognised. That Trip and Tâ€™Pol volunteered didnâ€™t surprise me; that the captain handed it to them so easily did. Personally, I thought it was extreme folly, that they were both far too emotionally involved with this situation to handle it effectively, never mind sticking out like a pair of sore thumbs in that environment, but I kept my counsel. I still wasnâ€™t sure the captain had regained his confidence in my judgement following Phloxâ€™s kidnapping. It wouldnâ€™t do to second-guess him publicly. I would simply need to trust Tripâ€™s innate common sense and Tâ€™Polâ€™s emotional detachment.

I wished him well before he departed, and he wrapped me in a bone-crushing hug as he said goodbye.

I barely had time to miss him, between meeting with Harris, interrogating Gannet, and planning the assault on Paxtonâ€™s stronghold. By the time we landed on Mars, I was punchy from lack of sleep and sick to my stomach from the turbulence on the way in. No wonder I was the first man downed in the battle to take the control room.

I came round in the shuttle, on the way back to â€˜Enterpriseâ€™. I opened my eyes to find myself wedged upright between the doctor and the captain. Across from me, Tâ€™Pol cradled the infant in her arms. Trip sat close beside her, one arm around her slim waist and the other hand gently stroking the childâ€™s head. He couldnâ€™t take his eyes off the baby.

It was obvious they were a family: a strange one to be sure, brought together by incredible circumstances. But in that moment I knew it would never include me.

And then, back on the ship, Phlox broke the terrible news that Elizabeth, as they had named the child, in honour of Tripâ€™s dead sister, would die. I couldnâ€™t believe it. She died only a few hours later. I wanted nothing more than to rush to sickbay to comfort Trip, but I held myself in check, viciously reminding myself that it wasnâ€™t my place any longer. He shared this with Tâ€™Pol, and they would console each other.

On the planet below us, the interspecies conference was falling apart, and we were summoned in a last-ditch effort to save it.

I was surprised when Trip and Tâ€™Pol joined us in the shuttlepod. I hadnâ€™t seen either of them since weâ€™d returned from Mars - not that had I expected to. And perhaps it was their presence as much as the captainâ€™s oratory that brought the delegates back from the brink. Several of them were privy to the details of the tragedy.

I stood beside Trip, stealing occasional sidelong glances at him. He stared straight ahead, eyes fixed on the captain, as if shutting everything but his friendâ€™s words out of his mind. 

I wanted nothing more than to take him in my arms, to comfort him, to let him know I would be there for him. That I would always be his friend, even if I was no longer anything more.

On our return, I was the last to exit the shuttlepod. I saw that Trip was just ahead of me, and that the others were already leaving the launch bay.

â€œTrip,â€ I called, seizing the opportunity with both hands.

He stopped and turned, meeting my eyes. The desolation in his seemed to pierce my heart.

â€œTrip, you know if you â€¦â€ I faltered, unsure of what to say now that the moment had come. â€œIf you need â€¦ anything, you know where to find me.â€

He glanced at the floor, then back up at me. He reached out and squeezed my arm, and when he spoke his voice was low and gravely. â€œI know. Thanks, Mal.â€

And then he turned and left, his shoulders slumping as he stalked out of the launch bay.

~~~

I was lying in bed, trying to will myself to sleep, when the door-chime sounded. I was exhausted, but my mind and my heart were in turmoil, and sleep had proved elusive. 

I jumped up and pulled on sweats and a t-shirt. There was only one person who would come calling at this time of night. I opened the door without any further delay.

â€œCome in,â€ I said, my heart pounding as Trip stepped into the room. 

He was still in uniform, his left arm in a sling to protect his injured ribs and back and shoulder. He looked like hell, and I surmised that he wasnâ€™t sleeping much either. Although heâ€™d held himself together at the conference earlier, it was clear that the emotional turmoil of the last few days had taken more of a toll on him than any of the physical hardships. His normally bright ocean-blue eyes were dull and empty, with dark shadows beneath. He was pale, and his normally expressive mouth, so ready with a smile, was pressed into a thin line as his jaw clenched. It reminded me of the visit weâ€™d paid to the Xindi trench in Florida, a mere two years ago. Then, Trip had buried his grief for his sister under his anger and an uncharacteristic desire for revenge. I hoped that wouldnâ€™t happen again.

â€œHi, Malcolm. Sorry to come â€˜round so late. Câ€™n we â€¦ talk?â€ he mumbled. His voice sounded gruff and hollow.

I nodded, swallowing down my heart as it leapt up into my throat. This was it. The end.

He stared at the floor for a few seconds, as if he was unsure how to begin, and I steeled myself as I waited for the axe to fall. After all, Reeds donâ€™t cry.

â€œI came to say thanks,â€ he said at last. â€œFor everything you did. It canâ€™t have been easy, dealing with Harris again.â€

I was a little thrown. This wasnâ€™t what I was expecting. â€œI only did what was necessary.â€

â€œYou always do.â€

I nodded an acknowledgement.

He glanced around the room, his eyes lighting on the unmade bed as if for the first time. â€œI guess you need your rest,â€ he sighed. â€œI should go.â€

His shoulders slumped as he said it, and I sensed there was more he needed to say.

â€œWait!â€ I said as he made for the door. â€œStay for a while. We can just talk, or â€¦â€ I glanced up at my shelf, â€œhow about a little liquid sedative?â€

He scrubbed his good hand over his face, and then nodded. I lifted a bottle of brandy and two glasses down from the shelf above my desk - Iâ€™d taken the opportunity to replenish my stock of Human liquor as soon as we arrived back on Earth. Trip sat down heavily on the bed as I poured a generous measure and handed him the glass.

â€œIâ€™m not sure I should be havinâ€™ this with all the painkillers Phlox gave me,â€ he said, â€œbut what the hell.â€ He raised the glass. â€œTo all my children.â€

I sat down at my desk and raised my glass in a silent salute. We both drank. Trip slumped back against the bulkhead, his head drooping as he nursed his glass against his chest.

â€œThis is the third time,â€ he said at last.

â€œThird â€¦? I donâ€™t understand,â€ I said.

â€œThird time Iâ€™ve had a child, and lost â€˜em, without actually gettinâ€™ the chance to be a father.â€

I remembered. Heâ€™d carried the Xyrillian embryo for nearly two weeks, and although he was relieved when it was removed, I knew that from time to time heâ€™d wondered what had happened to her. Then, in the Expanse, heâ€™d discovered Lorian, a half-Vulcan son three times his age, only to have that son betray him. Lorian and the rest of his crew had disappeared inside a subspace corridor, and we hadnâ€™t had the time or the resources to look for them - or to investigate whether theyâ€™d ever existed at all. And now there was Elizabeth: created by a megalomaniac without Tripâ€™s knowledge or consent. Created with a flaw that had ended her life so prematurely, leaving her father - and he was her father, in every sense that mattered - distraught.

And then I realised he was grieving the loss of all three children, not just Elizabeth.

â€œWhy did she have to die, Malcolm?â€ he pleaded. â€œShe was innocent. Not a freak or a monster. Just a baby.â€ I could hear the catch in his voice.

I had no words of comfort for him. Paxton was the monster. â€œShe didnâ€™t deserve to die.â€

â€œShe didnâ€™t. I talked to Phlox, and he said if â€¦ if sheâ€™d been our natural child, instead of a clone, she probably wouldâ€™ve survived.â€ The implication behind his words tore at my heart: that he might consider having a child with Tâ€™Pol. I quickly and ruthlessly squelched the feeling. But his voice was barely a whisper now, and I could see that he was gasping for breath, fighting for control as his lips quivered. I could see the turning point as clear as day. He could either shore up the dam against the flood of emotions that was so clearly threatening to overwhelm him, or let it burst. Iâ€™d seen at close quarters the damage shoring up had done to him after his sister died.

Cautiously, I moved across and sat down beside him on the bed. Resisting the urge to simply wrap my arms around his trembling body, I instead gripped his good hand in mine and stared intently into his eyes.

â€œItâ€™s okay to let go, Trip,â€ I said quietly. â€œI wonâ€™t tell anyone.â€

Slowly his gasps became sobs that sent long tremors through his frame, and then suddenly he was yelling and crying and pouring out all his venom against Paxton and Terra Prime and Starfleet and Phlox and even Captain Archer, lashing out at those who deserved it and those who didnâ€™t. His head came down on my shoulder, and at that point I did snake my arms around him, cradling his head with one hand while I rubbed slow circles on his back with the other and murmured soothing nonsense into his hair. Just as slowly, the ranting gave way to simple sobs, and I held him, rocking him gently, waiting.

Eventually Trip lifted his head and sniffed, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand.

â€œAre you going to be okay?â€ I said, reaching for a box of tissues and handing it to him.

â€œYeah,â€ he nodded. â€œThanks, Mal. I guess I needed that.â€ He managed a watery smile.

â€œHere, let me â€¦â€ I headed for the bathroom and ran a facecloth under the cold tap.

â€œLook at you,â€ he said as I returned and handed it to him.

I glanced down at my t-shirt: one shoulder was decidedly soggy and covered in glistening trails that I rather suspected were snot.

I shrugged nonchalantly. â€œItâ€™ll wash.â€

I sat in my chair again and cast an appraising eye over Trip. Despite his red-rimmed eyes and swollen lips, he actually looked better. His eyes looked alive again.

â€œI dunno why you put up with me,â€ he said softly.

â€œI think you do,â€ I grinned.

â€œYeah,â€ he said, a small, sad smile pulling at his lips. â€œI guess I do.â€

I shifted uncomfortably as I sensed the tension building between us. I still didnâ€™t know where we stood, but it wasnâ€™t fair to bring it up while he was so emotionally vulnerable. He didnâ€™t need that kind of pressure from me right now. I decided to change the subject.

â€œHow is Tâ€™Pol holding up?â€

â€œI donâ€™t know,â€ he sighed. â€œShe went straight to her quarters right after we got back from the conference. I havenâ€™t seen her since.â€

â€œPerhaps you should go to her, Trip,â€ I suggested cautiously, speaking past the lump in my throat. â€œSheâ€™s going to need you.â€

â€œSometimes I think she doesnâ€™t need anybody,â€ he said sadly.

I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, looking straight into his eyes. â€œWhose shoulder can she cry on, Trip? You have me, the captain, your family. She only has you. Why donâ€™t you go and tell her what Phlox said: it might give her some comfort.â€

â€œIâ€™ll probably end up cryinâ€™ all over her as well,â€ he said. â€œOnce I get started, itâ€™s hard to stop.â€

â€œIâ€™m sure she wonâ€™t mind. No-one will think any less of you for shedding a few tears for your daughter.â€

We both rose to our feet, and he wrapped me in a one-armed hug, holding on for a long moment before he finally opened the door and left.

As the door slid closed behind him I slumped down again on my bunk, my head in my hands. It was the hardest thing Iâ€™ve ever done: sending him back to her, but it had to be done. I let him go with my blessing, but Trip and Tâ€™Pol werenâ€™t the only ones who lost someone dear to them today, although my loss was trivial compared to theirs. Yet my shoulders shook with the effort of holding back my grief. Because Reeds donâ€™t cry.

But why not? As I shared in Tripâ€™s grief and anger and despair at the death of his child, why should I not allow myself a moment to grieve for my own loss? But grown men donâ€™t cry, despite what I told Trip earlier. My upbringing ensured I would always hold myself to a different standard. Starfleet officers donâ€™t cry. Repressed English armoury officers certainly donâ€™t cry. And of course, Reeds donâ€™t cry.

Yet tonight Malcolm Reed, armoury officer on Starfleetâ€™s flagship, sat on his bunk, hugging his knees, and allowed a torrent of tears to fall.

 

End of Part 7


End file.
